


Intensive Training

by onesickmind



Category: Welcome to Desert Bluffs - Fandom, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Dark, F/M, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Cannibalism, Torture, Vomiting, author doesn't understand how elevators work, hardcore torture, intense torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3118553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onesickmind/pseuds/onesickmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin is tortured into submission. This is hardcore torture and gore, so proceed ONLY if you want to read that sort of thing!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intensive Training

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've never orgasmed, but last night, with a heap of adult toys and determination, I got closer than I ever had before. Afterwards, I wrote this. If anyone has insights on what might be wrong with me, I'd REALLY like to hear them.

Five o'clock was approaching. Kevin could tell from the way his trainer was getting twitchy and glancing past him at the clock. 

He would be allowed to stand soon, so he started experimentally shifting in his bonds, testing the strength of his legs as best he could in the restraints of the chair in the training room. Not too bad; his trainer had been uninspired, spending the session with the standard shock box and half-hearted strikes. Kevin had gotten used to these training courses by now, and to the nearly constant complaints that lingered on his body in the forms of cuts and welts, and was focusing most of his irritation on the fact he had decided to skip lunch today and was now ravenous from having to skip snack for this bullshit. 

The strikes from the cane across his chest abruptly stopped, and the trainer unceremoniously undid his restraints. "'Night," he tossed off, and grabbed his coat and left.

Kevin gingerly stood, testing his muscles and taking a moment to stretch and rub out stiffness. He whimpered just slightly. He quickly taped gauze over the open wounds and was getting dressed when his director appeared to lean smugly in the doorway.

"Learn anything today?" she asked.

"Sure! Double what I learned yesterday."

"You learned nothing yesterday."

"Exactly," Kevin said, adjusting his tie and putting all effort into making his expression look like he was totally untroubled by the aches the motion triggered. Fuck, even the lazy trainer's half-hearted efforts had him wishing for nothing more than some painkillers, a long bath, and something softer than a bed to sleep on. "Excuse me," he said, brushing past her.

"Stay a minute, Kevin."

"My shift's over." He kept walking.

"I've scheduled you for a double shift."

"I haven't taken lunch yet. I'm on break."

"I'm ordering you to--"

"LALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU," he said, and continued to hum loudly until he had clocked out

"Kevin," she smiled, dangerously syrupy-sweet, as he pressed the DOWN button and waited for the elevator.

"Report straight to training next shift. Yeah, sure." Kevin said. The elevator was actually still on its way up, but when doors opened he stepped inside anyway 

"Oh, no. You're reporting to training right now."

"I'm. Clocked. Out." He hit the CLOSE DOOR button with finality, then leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh as the elevator began to move. Out of earshot, he allowed himself a long groan. Oh, he did not want two training sessions in a row. But it was worth it to disrespect Lauren.

The elevator jerked to a sudden stop and he almost fell over. The doors slid open, revealing about three feet of the floor he had just tried to leave. He gingerly crouched to glare down at Lauren. "Really?

If he lay on the floor, his face would be level with Lauren's. He of course kept his head as high above hers as he could without the elevator shaft blocking his sight of her.

"It's funny. You keep acting like obedience is a choice."

"You keep acting like obedience is obtainable." 

"You keep acting like you don't want this back." Lauren held up an object.

For about one second, he froze. Then he lunged on his hands and knees at the front of the elevator, gripping the edge of the floor. "Where did you get that?!!! You went through my apartment, you fucking bitch?!!" His face was sure as hell level with hers now, teeth bared and snapping.

"Language," she warned. The shiny locket dangled from between her fingers, his last memory of his lover. He snatched at it, and Lauren grabbed his arm.

"Give it the fuck back!" He tried to twist out of her grip so he could grab for it again. Her hold on him was remarkably strong 

"Hmm," she smiled at him. Something about that smile was utterly chilling.

She hit the button to un-freeze the elevator. It began to move up.

Kevin tried to jerk back his arm so it wouldn't get caught as the bottom of his elevator passed the solid top of the door frame. Lauren did not let go.

"Hey!" he grunted, yanking his arm again and remaining trapped in her grip. His forearm stayed well outside of the door, and the gap was quickly disappearing.

"The FUCK! Get off! Let go!!" 

He tried to yank his arm harder, but her grip on him was absolute. Weakened from training, even his superior leverage did not help him.

Lauren just smiled. He started to panic as his window for retracting his arm quickly shrank.

"What are you doing?? Stop! Shit! Stop, I'm sorry!" The two solid surfaces were seconds from meeting. He lay on the ground and tried again to twist from her grasp. "Ahh! I'm sorry, I'm done with my break, I'll come with you, I, shit, stop, STOP!" 

The elevator did not slow. He looked in her eyes and his stomach plunged. "STOP!" he screamed.

The top of the door touched his arm. "STOPITSTOPITSTIOPITFUCKFUCK **STOPSTOPSTOP**!" His entire body thrashed with a huge, involuntary convulsion as solid pressure became very real and painful on his arm and the elevator continued its unstoppable movement up. "STOP!" he screamed with all his power. " **STOP!!** "

The sound hit him before the pain. A squelching and crunching, both at once, sickening, final. 

" **STOPSTOPAHHHH!AHHHHH!AHHHHH!** " The elevator did not stop. It raised well beyond the place the two barriers met, closed, and continued to slide, crushing and pinching off his arm with it. He screamed harder and harder, as if a forceful enough scream could quell this agony.

Bare ends of severed bone now scraped along the rough inner wall of the shaft, sending an electric current down his nervous system. Lights flashed and popped in front of his vision. Different parts of his muscle continued to pull and stretch, nerves snapping, muscle smearing into pulp, until more than four feet up he felt a final tear of the last clinging pieces of his arm completely pulling away. 

He rolled into the center of the elevator, where he continued to thrash in a pool of blood that grew larger by spurts. He clutched the jagged stump of his arm and howled.

 The elevator came to a stop the next floor up and opened its doors with a calm ding. Nobody was outside. After a few seconds, they slid gently closed, and the elevator moved back down. The strength to scream left Kevin. The insides of his head rolled as he struggled to recall what motions were required to get oxygen. The feelings beneath the fingers wrapped around the end of his arm stopped making sense, all hardness and twitching softness and heat and wet and splinters. 

 A gentle bump announced the elevator's arrival at the previous floor. The doors slid open; Lauren stepped neatly inside. She carried an impossibly long and bloody object that trailed floppy strands along the floor. She said something to him as she pressed a button, but his mind slipped beneath the surface of understanding. The doors sliding shut behind her pinched off the light until she was a grey blur, and then he was unconscious. 

 

**

 

His nightmares were more terrifying than any he had had, with him lying, thrashing and kicking on the ground, his arm perpetually a fraction of an inch from being crushed between two moving planes of concrete. The knowledge that this gruesome dismemberment was unstoppable, inevitable, and a second away horrified him to his very core, and was worse than the second part of the nightmare, the part of pure excruciating pain 

He woke screaming to shooting pain up his arm that strangled every nerve in his body, and the memory of what had happened to him was restored immediately. He felt stiff and cold. A little shifting told him he was curled up under an afghan in a cushy leather armchair. He wished for some kind of out from his current reality, even a temporary return to the nightmare that was nonetheless a fantasy, but now that he was awake, the pain would not allow him to relax back into sleep. He reluctantly opened his eyes.

Even knowing what he would find, his reflex was to retch. Nothing came out but a splash of bile against the back of his tongue; he spit it out. 

Part of his arm was gone, irreversibly gone. His hand-- fuck. His hand was a dim memory now totally and violently erased. Two jagged white spikes stuck out of what repeated movements insistently told him was his own body. His radius and ulna, protruding five to seven inches from a pulpy red, white, and pink mass. The shredded pulp was cut off suddenly and neatly at the top with a very thick and tight string; above that, something resembling  a human arm bulged out, soon becoming an elbow, and then an upper arm, clean and intact.  

Kevin couldn't even wrap his mind around it. He could not handle the thoughts that needed to be thought in order to grasp what was going on with this particular part of his body. He tried again to vomit and failed. 

"Aww, sweetie, are you awake?"

Kevin's half-shout, half-whimper came from his throat involuntarily before his brain even pieced together who that voice belonged to. His rolling eyes passed enough times over the space in front of him to see Lauren sitting in a simple kitchen chair. 

He stared at her, shaking, snot, sweat, tears, saliva, everything running down his face. 

She stood, and the slight motion he made with his head to follow her made him begin to black out. A pinch in his neck, something chilly rushing into him, and Lauren said, "There, that will keep you from falling back asleep. It's about time to get you back to work!"

Kevin's heart pounded, his vision cleared, and his awareness rushed back to him. His head was sharper, clearer, and now it took much more effort to remain at least a little ignorant of the horror at the end of his arm. 

 "Wait here."

Trembling, paralyzed, brain forcing itself to jam into neutral, he stared at a random patch of carpet, watching it morph senselessly while his mind swum. He dry heaved again. His eyes kept flicking to the jagged white bits where his forearm ought to be, then returning determinedly to their focus on the floor. He found his breathing and tried to fixate on it. 

"Here, sweetie, drink up."

A steaming bowl of broth was held beneath his face. No part of his body was ready to even conceptualize eating. He panted shallowly, wide eyes still staring. He would have blacked out ten times already if not for whatever drug Lauren had injected into his system.

"Ohh, after all that, you're still having problems with obedience? Well, I'm a very persistent trainer."

She grabbed his ulna like it was a handle and swung Kevin's arm around. He cried out and his body twisted and flopped to follow it. He wound up with his shoulders and head dangling off the edge of the chair while Lauren pulled his mutilated arm up. 

She pulled out a very thick, very long needle. Nearly a foot. 

"This is just the first level of punishment if you don't cooperate, hmmm," she chirped. 

She pushed the needle into the exposed marrow of his bone.

Kevin found another scream inside himself, wretched and unarticulated. Though the drug kept him from actually passing out, his consciousness skipped out for a few seconds and he found himself hanging limply off the chair, hair brushing the floor. Lauren helped him back into a sitting position.

She held the bowl back under his mouth. 

Just a large enough scrap of Kevin's brain was intact to know he had to drink. He put everything he could muster into meekly lapping the broth from the bowl.

"Good boyyy," she crooned, scratching him gently behind the ears. Tears dripped from his face into the broth. "Eat it all up, you need to get your strength back! I want a nice, chipper Voice on the radio tonight!"

Kevin could not conceive-- well, anything, really, this thoughts were still too scrambled. But envisioning himself speaking collectedly into the headset in his studio was definitely out. His awareness ditched in and out a few more times, and then he was laving the smooth bottom of an empty bowl.

"Good boy," she repeated. She tilted up his chin and looked into his wet eyes. "Smile."

Kevin's face wouldn't move. It was slack with shock and terror.

She ordered him again to smile, and he closed his eyes and tried to pull his lips back, tried to curve his expression upwards into one of happiness, but he couldn't do it. He was too distressed. He glanced again at the gore protruding from his elbow and sobbed.

Without another word, Lauren left for a moment. She returned with short, blunt-tipped scissors, like a child is given for cutting yarn.

She got on top of him, pinning his good arm between her body and his lap, and pushed back his forehead. She studied him critically for a moment, then slipped the blades around the corner of his mouth and snipped through his cheek.

Kevin yelled and jerked, of course, but Lauren easily pinned him. He struck her once, reflexively, with the exposed bone of his arm, then struggled to never repeat that horrifying action again.

Snip, snip, in short little bits, she cut a line through the surprisingly thick flesh of his cheek, all the way to his cheekbone. He howled and hot blood poured into his mouth and down his face; she had to fight to keep his head from thrashing back and forth too much. Then, she began again at his upper lip, removing just the last quarter inch of it and continuing her cuts upwards from there, removing tiny little bits of flesh at a time, until she had slipped and snipped the blades all the way up to his cheekbone again. She then pulled away a long, roughly inch-wide strip of flesh.

"There," she said simply, tilting his head around to examine her work and reaching through the freshly carved gap to touch his exposed teeth. Then she repeated her actions on the other side.

Mouth opened or closed, teeth clenched or unclenched, did not matter. He went dizzy trying to distract his attention on the horror of his arm with the horror of his face and then vice-versa. Kevin ran out of strength to toss his head and his whole body just went stiff as the cutting noises of the scissors continued through his flesh. When the second strip was pulled free and dangled triumphantly in front of his face, he went limp and shivered.

"Look how happy you are now!" Lauren exclaimed. She ran her finger along the length of the raw edges, making him jolt. "See what I mean about obedience not being a choice?"

Kevin only whimpered. At least his wounds were hurting too much for the salt in his tears to add sting.

"Come on, let's get you washed up."

Somehow, Kevin let her guide him to his feet. He flopped against her as they proceeded to the bathroom. She transferred him to leaning against the wall; he promptly slid to the floor.

"No, no. Stand."

All of Kevin's remaining self-preservation warned him of the punishment that followed disobedience, and, with legs that felt too gelatinous to possibly lift his weight, he struggled back up. He pressed against the wall, panting, keening softly, tears still dribbling out, neck and jaw solid red, and put everything into keeping himself stuck to the wall.

By some miracle, he was able to be led into the tub, where Lauren mercifully let him sink to his knees. She turned the hot spray over his body and pressed a sponge into his hand. 

"Wash. Thoroughly. Start here."

She touched his exposed bone.

Kevin let out a sob and stroked the sponge up his white radius. Gently cleaned the bits of red and wiped down the dangling scraps of gore that still clung in small portions to the bone. Dabbed at the pulp. He vomited only five seconds in, and soon progressed to dry heaves. Lauren obliged to help hold him up. 

Water stung his cheeks and turned red to flow down his body. Facial wounds were known for bleeding profusely; everything he washed was soon covered in thin red streams. Lauren finally let him tilt his head back out of the hot water and pressed a dry cloth to the sides of his face to give the bleeding an opportunity to stop. 

Towels and crooning noises dried him off; he stumbled against Lauren until he was sitting on her bed, reeling, thinking of the needle to keep himself up, while she showed him different ensembles to choose from. He pointed first with the bone of his mutilated arm, then retracted it in horror, but his good arm was busy holding him up. He settled for nodding with wide, terrified eyes at items she showed him. He randomly picked out pants, shirt, tie, and vest, and she helped him dress. She rolled up his sleeves above his elbows. The cleaned bones stuck out like twin blades.

"I guess you need another breakfast, huh?"

She led him to the kitchen table, where he propped himself up on his elbows, now unable to look away from the bone that lay parallel to the healthy flesh of his intact arm and hand. 

"Let's try something solid, hmmm?" Her voice was caring and kind. 

She placed an object in front of him, that, though mangled and stretched, he recognized immediately. What else could it be, after all. What else would it be. Lauren was feeding him his own arm.

Deranged whimpering noises came from somewhere, probably himself, and he did not try to resist. He clutched his wrist with his good hand-- fuck, his own wrist, it was surreal, he clutched his own wrist like he were fidgeting with a living part of his body, only no, this length of arm, relatively intact for a few inches above the wrist, was disembodied now, literally. He rubbed his thumb in a circle against his palm and did not feel it, not in his palm anyway. His palm was no longer a part of his body. He twined his living fingers through the dead fingers, but could not clasp both hands. 

No matter how much he willed it, he could not get that hand to twitch. And some part of him still, insanely, looked at the dead hand now and shut off the severed stump and wished that this was all a mistake, that this arm was still attached to him after all, living and damaged but still able to heal.

He released the unresponsive hand and stroked the hairs on the back of his arm, waiting for that tickle and shiver. It was cold and motionless.

"Go on," Lauren coaxed, a warning sharpening the edge of her voice. "Don't make yourself late for work."

Maybe closing his eyes would have helped, but the thought never occurred to him. He lifted his forearm to his mouth and took a solid chunk out of the fleshy part beneath his thumb. He expected pain, expected his hand to twitch and jerk, and the absence of response was in its own way even more gruesome. He forced himself through several bites before vomiting.

"You are eating all of it," Lauren said, and with the needle's tip brushing the edge of his marrow, forced him to eat what he had regurgitated.

Three times his body rejected what he was taking in before he learned to keep it down, force it down, make the fresh flesh and vomited flesh and coffee-ground blood quiver obediently inside of his stomach instead of escaping. He finished his meal by sucking the meat off each individual finger like he was licking them clean. Finally, he was left with a cleaned skeleton, which Lauren did not consider to be food.

"What a good boy! I'm glad you're learning to follow orders. Things will get-- well, not much easier, but they won't get harder as long as you keep up the good work! You've even earned dessert."

Kevin wanted to do nothing to provoke any possible punishment, but the words slipped from his lips anyway. 

"Hmm? What was that?" Lauren asked.

"Kill me." 

His pupils shrank and his breathing quickened at the thought of what she could do to punish him for making the request. He tried to mitigate it with a polite, "Please."

"Oh, no, Strex would never allow that! We need a nice, cooperative Voice of Desert Bluffs, and we can't get that if you're dead. Nope, I'm sorry, it's not on the table, not even if you're bad!"

No punishment came for that request, other than the horror of having to come to terms with this fate. She brought out dessert as promised, a small piece of ordinary cake, which might have struck him as ludicrous if he weren't so damn shell-shocked right now. He simply bent over and ate it. Coffee was placed before him as well, which was too hot to drink at first, but she allowed him to let it cool and sip it at his own pace. He took his coffee with sugar but was not insane enough to ask for it.

"There. Let's see you." She lifted his head up by the hair, tilted it back, and dabbed his face clean with a napkin. "Yup. Washed, dressed, fed, and ready for work!!"

They listened to Cher on the drive over. Lauren rambled happily about spreadsheets and productivity. Kevin leaned against the window and watched the landscape go by. The car ride had a surreal sense of normalcy. On the sidewalk, people smiled and chatted, eating bagels and carrying shopping bags and scurrying to work as if they had never even stopped to consider what it would be like to have their arms torn off and fed to them. Kevin felt utterly detached from the world.

He earned the needle again when they got inside the building, and approached the elevator. 

When Kevin saw the elevator, he fell out of his head. He collapsed, howling, and then the agony of the needle jabbing the nerves within his bone made the return to sanity even more impossible. He totally ran out of resources to cope, but Lauren fortunately had plenty of syringes to help him along. Heart thudding, eyes wide, his brain finally organized itself into a quivering straight line and he stood against her inside the elevator. He let out involuntary shouts the whole way up, and used all his willpower to keep from collapsing into sobbing jelly once they got off. His only boon was that Lauren let him cling to her shoulders without penalty.

She led him into his studio and seated him in his chair. His headphones were slipped over his ears.

He heard the sound of a drill being tested. 

"Now, stay still or the needle will come back!" Lauren chirped.

She drilled a screw through the headband and directly into his skull.

Screaming and arching against Lauren's body while she firmly held him in place, fortunately, met her definition of "stay still." He lost his meal again, jettisoning it right down his chin and front as she applied more screws. All time could do was pass, and then he was allowed to slump forward on his desk, while thin streams of blood dripped down his head. One of the screws had damaged the wire to his left ear, filling it with a loud, high-pitched whine.

"Tsk tsk, you're a flight risk," she clucked, and then her drill positioned itself over a particularly long screw, this one positioned over the bone that rested on the desk.

Kevin's ability to scream kept giving out and then returning. He dug his stomach back down to bile again. The urge to urinate hit him, and he just let it go down his leg.In short order, eight screws anchored the exposed bones of his arm, and his head hung limply over the last of his regurgitated arm that lay in a messy puddle on his desk.

"There. Perfect," Lauren said, stepping back to admire her work. "One Voice of Desert Bluffs, properly installed in his workplace and ready to broadcast!"

It was coming. Something literally worse than he could imagine was coming. He would be told to broadcast, and no force on earth could wring a coherent word form him, and this base standard of life that was already hell would transform into whatever Lauren considered to be punishment.

"Here you go!" she said, slapping a script in front of him. "You're on in fifteen. Do be cheerful. You don't want to disappoint me~!" 

She left, shutting the door behind her.

Fifteen minutes. All he thought he could bring himself to do was either stare in shock or pass out, but some desperate part of his brain understood that the consequences of failing this task had to be avoided at all costs. It rallied every feeble morsel inside him, and it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. He was going to be cut apart. Kevin's tear-blurred eyes wobbled over his screwed-down bones and the sound board and the digested scraps of arm and the coffee mug and the very brightly labeled syringe and it took a good seven passes to even interpret that the syringe was there.

"Pain Eraser! :D" the syringe said in child-loud letters.

A vague, spineless second-guess about the purpose behind Lauren's manipulation fluttered over his mind, and then he grabbed it and plunged it into the bicep of his bad arm.

Oh. This was… going to make everything okay.

A white steam fizzed up, effervescent, around his body and senses, smelling like mint and hedgehog tummies. Liquid flushed the pain right out of his arm and all its connected nerves across his body. The slits on his face felt like the outlines of an actual smile.

"The world is beautiful, and Strex has trademarked it," he read from the script, voice dreamy but clear. "Welcome to Desert Bluffs! 

***

Bolted to his desk. Headset bolted to his skull. His life, bolted in place.

Food was regularly placed in front of him by some Strex-appointed intern, usually broth, stew, or porridge, which he always obediently ate. He was never fed his cheeks, though the stew had him rather suspicious. Syringes appeared regularly but spaced too far apart. Sleeping in the half-digested remains of his arm didn't bother him much; he was either too blissed out or agonized to care.

It did not take long at all, perhaps ten cycles, tops, of allowing the drugs to wear off for a few hours of agony and then finding a fresh syringe placed before him with scripts and threats, for Kevin to become solidly addicted, and then the screws in his arm were removed. He was rewarded with a drive to Lauren's home, where the week's worth of urine and defecation were stripped from his body and he was allowed a nice, long shower, real heat and steam mingling with the rewardingly high dose. The headset remained screwed to his head, but this model was designed to be waterproof anyway.

He was allowed to sleep in Lauren's bed. Perhaps some things happened with Lauren before then; it was hard to tell, but her scent was all over him when he woke in the morning, her sex scent. His euphoria had faded to the rare line of normalcy as she told him to wash off again.

Standing beneath the hot water, wiping off his two sharp shafts, he balanced on the blade-thin line between the haze of the drug and the mindlessness of the agony. His face with the false grin hanging wide upon it turned to the door, to the direction Lauren still lay.

This would hurt. There would be consequences. But like something other than his sense of self-protection was driving him, he walked to the bedroom, stood above her napping form, and then stabbed her repeatedly with the bones of his arm.

 

***

 

Pain began to muddle his mind before she was done bleeding out. Perhaps she was not dead. He no longer had any concern for that. The whine in his left ear removed whatever miracle had overcome the impossibility of thought. He retained enough presence to get dressed, then drifted onto the street. He wandered aimlessly until the returning pain became too great, and then returned to his studio. Another injection, and he was back on the air.

 

***

 

It was fifteen days going back and forth between the station and his home before Lauren returned from the hospital. He was fully high when she opened his door, broadcast freshly over, and even though he knew hell and consequences would now follow due to his actions against her, the smile of his gaping wide face felt genuine. 

She approached him, and placed one hand on his bone, the other on his shoulder. The confused fear met the drug and bubbled up out of him in a laugh.

She smiled very deeply. Then she left.

Kevin turned back to his soundboard and hummed happily along to the sound of the post-show recording in one ear, and the piercing whine in the other. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> What's wrong with me? Please leave your thoughts below.


End file.
